Behind The Mask
by EvelynEvelyn
Summary: Effie, with a little help from Haymitch, comes to terms with her new self after being rescued. • One-Shot •


**Had this idea in my head for a while and needed to get it down.**

**I don't have a beta reader so excuse any spelling or grammatical mistakes.**

**TW; Slight reference to torture, but nothing severe.**

**tumblr: off-with-her-head**

* * *

Appearance was everything.

And no one understood this more than Effie Trinket. From an early age she remembered how her mother had drilled into her the importance of self image. No matter how she felt on the inside, it was vital that her exterior should resemble nothing short of perfection.

As if her mask of heavy make up and elaborate wigs could protect her from anything. The impression of naivety her capitol attire had served well to repel any suspicion, that she was more than just an ignorant escort.

And she'd truly believed that no one would ever doubt her sincerity when it came to the games and everything they represented.

In fact she counted on her appearance during her time as an escort. Not only to protect _her,_ but her tributes as well. It was no secret that district 12 held no appeal for sponsors.

And with Haymitch almost always indifferent, or drunk. The task of wooing sponsors to help the children had often fallen on her shoulders.

Even if she knew in the end it would be for nothing, Effie's protectiveness over the tributes she'd picked never wavered. And if she could make those final moments easier for them, then she would flirt her way through a room of sponsors just for some medicine or water.

Her façade had kept her safe for years, so when she saw Finnick reveal the gold band she'd given to Haymitch just before Katniss and Peeta left for the arena, she knew she was doomed. Topped with her lack luster performance at the quarter quell reaping, there was no way to hide from Snow's scrutiny.

There had been something different about the last games, and for some reason or other Effie had a feeling that the outcome would be monumental. Whether it was good or bad.

Of course, apart from her assumptions, no one had let her in on the secret. A part of her was hurt at the realisation that those she considered her friends had even fallen for her capitol act, causing them to distrust her.

Sometimes she had questioned Haymitch, hoping that in his intoxication he'd give something away. But either he drank less than she thought or he truly didn't trust her enough to let her in either.

•

Sitting up in her bed, Effie clutched a small mirror. She held on so tightly her knuckles had long since turned white. This was the first time she'd been allowed one since she'd woken up, and that had been a week ago.

If they thought prolonging her curiosity would lessen the blow then the doctors were wrong. They probably thought she couldn't handle it, seeing herself like this. And to an extent they were correct.

But she was far more robust and less superficial than anyone knew.

Ice blue eyes bore into the glass, she'd been staring for at least ten minutes now. Taking in the scars that marred her once pristine skin.

One in particular that ran from her temple down to her cheek bone, was still red and angry. While the rest, much smaller in size and scattered all over, were a pinkish colour and nearly healed.

But she knew they'd be with her forever, just like the scars that now decorated the rest of her body.

Proof that she had endured; she was a rebel.

•

"Sweetheart?.."

Startled out of her thoughts, Effie dropped the mirror and turned towards where the familiar voice had come from. Narrowing her eyes, she found Haymitch cautiously lurking near the door of her hospital room. His expression was unreadable, yet from the slight sway of his stance, he'd clearly been drinking.

There was a pregnant pause, and neither of them spoke. For a split second she felt self conscious about her appearance. Not just the scars, but her lack of anything to hide behind; she felt naked.

But the momentary self doubt vanished when she remembered it was Haymitch who had found and rescued her. Or so she had been told after waking up.

"Should you be drinking in here?" she asked, her capitol accent sounding hoarse and unused.

From his place on the other side of the room, Haymitch chuckled.

"I shoulda' known you'd be lecturing me the second you woke up_, princess_" he remarked, and stepped further into the room.

He gestured towards the chair next to her bed "Never would of guessed it though, you were like sleeping beauty for the past week"

Her eyes widened at the revelation that he'd been sitting there, waiting for her to wake up.

She'd thought he hated her, that they all hated her. After all she hadn't once been told of the plan, of the rebellion.

"I didn't think..." she trailed off, and the old Effie would of berated herself for the lack of manners.

But something else about his sentence didn't sit well with her.

"_Don't_ call me that" she hissed through gritted teeth.

Averting her eyes, she stared at the wall straight ahead. Her jaw clenched as she fought back the tears that threatened to fall.

Though it seemed it was to no avail, as she felt the moisture splash down her face. At least she didn't have to worry about smudging her make up any more, she thought bitterly.

Furious with herself, she began wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, only to stop when she felt a firm grip on her wrist.

"Don't call you what, sweetheart?" the tone of voice that Haymitch spoke in sounded so soft, Effie had to look at him to make sure she wasn't imagining it.

But the concern on his face matched the gentleness of his voice, so much so, that she nearly couldn't answer him.

"Sleeping beauty..." she sniffed "Look at me, I'm _not_ beautiful anymore, Haymitch" her voice cracked, and she tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn't let her.

Feeling the bed dip slightly, Effie tried to ignore how Haymitch's free hand stroked her cheek. They'd never been this close to each other in all the years they'd worked as escort and mentor.

Unless you counted the times she'd have to man handle him to bed during drunken stupors. S

he was surprised he was here at all.

"Well, I _never _thought you were beautiful with all that clown make up on your face" Haymitch teased.

She couldn't help but roll her eyes.

His jibe lessened the severity of what she'd said, of what she'd been through. And for a second she could make herself believe that nothing had changed.

He would make fun of her while she would nag him about his manners- or lack there of- just like the old days.

"But these scars, Effie..." his hand slipped from her wrist into her smaller one, and he squeezed gently.

"They don't make you ugly, they make you a survivor, a fighter" his words were uncharacteristic at the very least, and she wanted to argue differently, but she found herself speechless.

"_My _fighter" he added quietly.

So quietly, that Effie wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. But when their eyes finally met, and she saw her own turmoil refelcted back in Haymitch's dark pools, she understood.

He knew, _Haymitch knew_ who she really was behind the person she'd portrayed everyday in front of him. And he hadn't kept her in the dark because he didn't trust her. He'd done it to protect her.

His indifference had been her armour, the appearance _he had _to portray.

Tears now spilled for a different reason, and Effie couldn't help but lean forward so her head rested against Haymitch's shoulder.

"I'm sorry" he whispered into her hair but she didn't respond straight away.

Instead she let herself breathe in the familiar scent that was uniquely Haymitch.

"I know, so am I" her muffled reply broke the oppressing silence, and she felt him kiss the top of her head.

For once there was no act.

She was just Effie.


End file.
